


and may love find you

by lunapark



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Canon Era, Ealdor, Established Relationship, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-20 19:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14900960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunapark/pseuds/lunapark
Summary: Merlin and Arthur are farmers. And desperately, hopelessly in love.Inspired bythisgorgeous piece of fanart from the very talentedChrissie.





	and may love find you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chrissie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrissie/gifts).



> Chrissie, thank you for your endless patience and for giving me the opportunity to write this. This is an AU I've had in my head for a long while that just wouldn't manifest on paper, but then I saw your beautiful art and it turned out to be the only push I needed. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. ♥ It's full of love, love, and more love. 
> 
> This fic diverges from canon just before the start of Season 1. If we are going by canon timeline, I'd say this version of Merlin and Arthur are the same age as their Season 5 counterparts; at least, that's how I envisioned them while writing this. :) 
> 
> (Incidentally, most of this was written while listening to [To Build A Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qkP6Tf79UrM) by The Cinematic Orchestra, especially the last 1/3 of the fic. Please give it a listen if you haven't heard it already!)

 

* * *

 

“Do you ever miss Camelot?” Merlin asks, soft.

They sit beneath a large oak tree, watching the storm clouds creep across the pale sky to overtake the sun, Merlin in the vee of Arthur’s legs with his head against his shoulder, his hand atop Arthur’s, fingers sliding into the spaces between Arthur’s own.

“I was hardly more than a boy when I came to Ealdor,” Arthur replies, which isn’t an answer.   

“You must remember _some_ thing,” Merlin insists. He doesn’t understand why the answer is so important to him, why his belly clenches so violently and his heart gives a too large, painful beat. 

But he needs to know. 

Arthur pauses to consider. Merlin holds his breath.

“I remember...color,” Arthur says at last, sounding nostalgic. “There was so much of it. Reds and blues, golds and greens and violets. In shades and hues I’ve no name for. It was all so vibrant, Merlin... I don’t think I will ever forget that.”

Merlin feels a drop of rain on his nose, then another on his cheek. There is a hard lump in his throat now that hurts to swallow past. “You must miss your home,” he forces out. A whisper because he does not trust himself to speak any louder.

Arthur is silent as he draws Merlin in closer to shield him from the rain, turns him in his arms so they are face to face, a calloused palm cupping Merlin’s cheek tenderly and smoothing the dirt off his cheekbone. 

“But I _am_  home,” Arthur says.

The easy sureness makes Merlin weak.

 

* * *

 

As Merlin tends to the hearth, fruitlessly poking and prodding at the fire to keep it going, Arthur chuckles from where he stands behind him. 

“Why not just use your magic?” he teases good-naturedly.

“Mum says I rely on it too much,” Merlin mutters shortly, and leaves it at that.

Merlin doesn’t turn to look at him, but he can feel Arthur’s eyes on his back, watching his every move. No doubt with an amused little quirk of his lips. Arthur is no fool; he knows Merlin is still upset from earlier, when they’d been outside cropping wheat, and one of the villagers had brought over his blushing daughter for Arthur to meet. 

”What?” Merlin snaps, irritated. Whether at Arthur for being cordial enough to entertain the old man, or at himself for getting so worked up over it, he isn’t sure. “What are you looking at?”

”You, of course,” Arthur says, and Merlin can _hear_ him smile, which just infuriates him more because Arthur probably thinks he’s overreacting. Which maybe he is. “You’re quite lovely to look at, even if you are hopeless with fires.”

Merlin snorts. He gives up on the fire and stands, mumbling that he needs more wood and heading for the door. He’s not exactly surprised when Arthur intercepts him with a hand on his elbow, or calls him an idiot as he tugs him close, but he  _is_ surprised when Arthur kisses him, long and deep and breathless, effectively blotting out any thoughts that aren’t about how Arthur is kissing him like it’s the end of the world.

“I was only being polite. I told him I wasn’t interested,” Arthur tells him once they’re finished and trying to catch their breath. Merlin knows it’s meant to comfort him, but instead he feels ridiculous that Arthur has to coddle and reassure him like this. “She’s not... You honestly don’t think I care to _court_  her, do you?”

Merlin shrugs, looking anywhere but at Arthur, ashamed by how absurdly petty he is being. “She‘s beautiful,” he acknowledges, because she is, with her long brown hair and kind eyes and sweet, sweet smile. “When you were a prince—”

”I have not been a prince for a very long time, Merlin,” Arthur says levelly. “I know what I want.” He presses a soft kiss to Merlin’s cheek, one that melts his heart. “ _Who_ I want,” he adds, mouth against his ear. “Never doubt what you mean to me.”

The promise in those words is implicit and unmistakable. Merlin shudders, eyes falling closed. He swears he will never forget this again.

“The fire will be out soon,” Merlin says unnecessarily.

“Take care of it,” Arthur tells him, his unrelenting grip on Merlin’s arm as clear an indication as any of just how he wants him to do it. 

His eyes flash gold as he opens them. The flames burst to life in an instant, licking at the damp wood before engulfing it, sparks and embers flying out towards them. When Merlin finally catches his eye, Arthur smiles at him, a fond and wondrous thing.

”Only one person for me in this world.” 

 

* * *

 

“How did you feel about me the very first time we met?” Arthur asks him.

He is some ways down their tiny bed, his cheek resting on Merlin’s belly. Merlin watches the firelight dance over each precious strand of his golden hair, the very tips of his eyelashes, heart overflowing with so much love that he could drown in it. 

“I hated you,” Merlin tells him truthfully, lips quirking. Arthur laughs warmly into his skin, drops a kiss to his navel, nuzzling there.

“I thought you were an arrogant, pretentious, spoilt brat who wouldn’t last a _day_ in Ealdor,” Merlin continues, thinking back to the way Arthur had strode in to their hut and demanded to know which bed would be his. “I didn’t understand why Gaius had sent you to our village, to _my_ home. Or why mum had agreed to let you stay with us when...”

He freezes. Trails off, guilty.

“When?” Arthur prompts gently.

Merlin glances away, swallowing hard, the silence stretching out between them like a tightly pulled rope. “When we knew what—what your father did to people with magic. People like me.”

When Arthur doesn’t reply, Merlin chances a look at him. There is no anger in his eyes, only something resembling regret.  _Shame_. Merlin stings, wishes he could recapture the words and swallow them up, lock them away again, but it’s too late. Arthur sits up, hand slipping off his hip, and Merlin misses the warmth of it immediately. 

“Did you think I would betray you?” he asks very quietly.

“Arthur—”

“Merlin,” he says in a tone that brooks no argument. “Tell me the truth.”

Merlin knows now why Arthur had left Camelot, of course. After learning the truth about his birth, he'd refused to live under Uther’s tyranny or be a willing participant in his war against magic any longer. He had publicly denounced his father and forfeited his right to the throne, choosing instead to be disowned and banished from Camelot for life. Gaius had been the one to send him to Ealdor, Hunith taking him in to their home like he was her long-lost son rather than an exiled prince. 

“I— Yes... Perhaps I did, at the time,” Merlin admits, faltering. And then adds, “But could you blame me?”

Arthur’s expression softens. “No,” he says sadly, “I didn’t. I don’t.” His hand is tentative as it touches Merlin’s skin again, as though he fears Merlin will reject him even after all this time. “I am sorry.” 

His jaw clenches, muscle gone taut beneath his skin. 

“And what about now?” Merlin abruptly demands, his vehemence surprising them both.

Arthur blinks his confusion. “What _about_ now?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I feel about you now?” 

Arthur hesitates for the space of a heartbeat. “How do you feel about me?” 

Merlin reaches for him, tugging Arthur down on top of his body, cradling his beloved face in his hands, memorizing each sun-darkened freckle, the summer sky bright and clear in his blue eyes. “I think you are stubborn and reckless and too easily jealous. You’re impatient and hotheaded and obnoxious. A right prat, most of the time.” Arthur opens his mouth, predictably, to argue, but Merlin places a finger on his lips and goes on. “But you are also strong and courageous and honest, selfless and kindhearted and—yes, beautiful, too." Merlin traces a finger down his nose. 

“What I feel for you exists outside myself and my magic. It is so powerful and violent and _infinite_ that I fear I will devour you whole one day. There are not enough words to describe my feelings for you, Arthur. Never forget this: I love you. I _love_ you. Hopelessly. Endlessly.”

“You are my life,” Arthur tells him, the raw emotion in his voice stealing Merlin’s breath away. He has never been a man of many words. 

Merlin loves him all the more for it.

Their lips touch gently at first, as timid and uncertain as the fluttering wings of a baby bird, then boldly once Merlin parts his lips, licks in to Arthur’s waiting mouth and tastes him, their hands mapping bare skin. He feels the relief and gratitude in each careful kiss, every worshipping caress, and pours it back in to him.

Their bodies speak for them, after that.

❧

The rain is gone by sunrise, leaving in its wake the smell of soft earth and wet grass. Arthur wakes unusually early, his deep sigh enough to rouse Merlin, who slits his eyes open to peer at him. The air is icy, biting, the fire having long since burnt out, and in its place a hearth full of blackened ashes. The thin sheet covering them does little to warm their bodies. Merlin shivers and shuffles closer to Arthur, cold nose pressing into his neck.

Arthur brushes the hair off Merlin’s forehead tenderly, murmurs, “I’m going to get an early start on the harvest.”

Merlin’s reply comes in the form of a sleepy, unintelligible grumble.

Arthur laughs, a puff of air from his nose, and kisses his forehead once, twice. “You rest,” he insists, and Merlin is more than happy to oblige. “Join me outside when you wake.”

As Arthur moves to get up, Merlin reaches out suddenly, blindly groping for his hand. 

“Ah’fur,” he mumbles, only half awake. “Remember. Last night. I love you. So much. You stupid cabbagehead.”

Merlin falls asleep not a second later. He will never see the long, loving look Arthur gifts him or the soft smile that steals his features as he brings Merlin’s hand to his lips and kisses his palm. 

“My precious idiot,” Arthur whispers to him, lashes coming away wet as he blinks. “You are treasured beyond compare. More than you could possibly know.” 

“You’re wrong.” Merlin smiles in his sleep. “I do know.”

When Merlin wakes, he will remember none of this.

❧

But this, Merlin will remember forever:

Arthur, with the sunset painting his hair rose gold, wearing a dusty old vest, tunic sleeves rolled to his elbows and a bushel of wheat thrown over one shoulder, smile wide and crooked as he approaches Merlin at the clothesline. He drops the bushel by their feet, leans in to kiss his cheek and whisper in Merlin’s ear.

“Lazy thing,” Arthur accuses without any real bite, hand tugging at the red scarf round Merlin’s neck. “You slept the whole day away. Left me toiling all alone in the fields.” 

Merlin finishes hanging the last sheet and turns to Arthur, arms winding around his neck, pulling him in so they are pressed close. Arthur lets out a surprised laugh that creases his eyes—eyes that shine with the setting sun, glittering with warm pinks and orange-coppers, and Merlin stares, captivated, wishing he could spend lifetimes lost in their depths.

A gust of wind throws their hair into disarray, and Arthur’s hands settle on his hips, keeping him close. Arthur’s nose touches his and then they are kissing, kissing and kissing until the sky turns from mottled purple to deep blue. 

Merlin tumbles them into the soft grass and they have each other there, with only the night sky privy to their soft, panted breaths, under the cover of the pale moon.

❧

“What are you thinking about?” Arthur asks him some time later, his fingers lazily carding through Merlin’s sweaty hair.

Merlin lifts his head from Arthur’s chest. It’s begun raining again, but they are shielded by the invisible umbrella of Merlin’s magic. He looks down at Arthur. His eyes are liquid silver, reflecting the moonlight.

“You,” Merlin says honestly. “I’m always thinking about you.”

 

* * *

 

Arthur had left Camelot with only the clothes on his back and a ring that had belonged to his late mother. Albeit grudgingly, Merlin had been fascinated by the ring from the first moment he had seen it catch the sunlight on Arthur’s finger, silver-plated with a ribbon of gold encircling the middle. Now, Arthur wears it around his neck, dangling from a long strip of leather as if it were a necklace, tucked inside his tunic, resting against his heart. 

They sit on a rug by the hearth, Merlin sideways in Arthur’s lap, one of Hunith’s thick-knit shawls wrapped around them. Merlin hooks his finger through the ring and idly rubs his thumb over the rows of shining metal, perpetually warm from Arthur’s skin. 

“Tell me about your ring.” 

Arthur chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest. “I have, Merlin. Many times, in fact.”

Merlin hides a smile against Arthur’s neck, presses a soft kiss there, knowing Arthur won’t be able to resist. “Tell me again,” he says simply. 

Arthur sighs, but there’s a half-smile on his face when he shakes his head. “This ring belonged to my mother,” he says wistfully. “She wore it every day, until the moment she took her final breath. It was her parting gift to me, something even Uther couldn’t take away. It’s all I have left of her.” 

Merlin tucks his head beneath Arthur’s chin. “I never tire of hearing about her, you know,” he murmurs.

“I wish I had more to tell you,” Arthur says helplessly. “There’s so much about her that I don’t know.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Merlin insists. “You were only a tiny baby, Arthur.”

Arthur is quiet long enough that Merlin knows he disagrees, but has no will or energy left to argue. He’s staring into the flames, expression faraway and more than a little broken. Merlin squeezes his hand, waiting for Arthur to come back to him. 

“I miss her,” Arthur admits, small and quiet and strained. “I never knew her...but I miss her.”

Merlin touches his cheek with careful fingers, turning Arthur’s face towards him. His eyes are damp with years of heartbreak and guilt. Merlin smooths his thumb over the pained wrinkle between Arthur’s eyes until it finally fades.

“You have her kindness,” Merlin tells him, thumbing away the wetness gathering at the corner of Arthur’s eyes. “I know you do, Arthur. She would be infinitely proud of the man you are today.” 

Arthur swallows, the notch in his throat jumping. “I...I hope so,” he says thickly.

“I know so,” Merlin says decisively. 

The deep-set frown lines around Arthur’s mouth soften, then fall away completely. The look Arthur gives him is one of adoration and quiet but unmistakable _awe_ , as though he can’t quite believe Merlin is real. Arthur’s lips twitch, and then he smiles, a small, private thing that is only ever reserved for Merlin. 

He unties the ring from its leather cord, holding it out in the center of his palm.

“Here,” Arthur says.

Merlin stares down at the ring, nonplussed. “What?”

Arthur looks at him as though he is daft. “Here,” he repeats slowly, smiling faintly now at Merlin’s bewilderment. “Take it. I want you to have it.” 

“Arthur,” he gasps, eyes going round. “No, I can’t—”

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupts gently. “Just take it. Please.”

Merlin swallows, trying to hold back the conflicting emotions that threaten to overtake him. “I can’t,” he insists, choking on the words. “It’s as you said, this ring is all you have left of your mother. There’s no way I could... I know how much it means to you. It’s too valuable, too precious.”

“And so are you, Merlin.” 

It’s a long time before Merlin can find his voice again. “I—I can’t accept this, Arthur,” he protests. “It’s meant to be yours, not mine.”

Arthur’s answering smile is kind and patient and devastatingly beautiful. “You know, I used to wonder—of all things she could have left me, why did my mother leave me this? A ring.” He takes Merlin’s hand in his own, absently running his thumb across Merlin’s knuckles. 

“I think I know now.” 

Heart in his throat, Merlin breathes, “Why?” 

His entire chest quakes when Arthur carefully, reverently slides the ring onto his finger; the fit is nothing short of perfect, snug without being too tight, and Merlin cannot deny just how right this feels. 

“I know this isn’t the same as marrying you,” Arthur murmurs, smiling persisting, his gaze intent on Merlin’s face, “but it’s the best that I can do.” 

Merlin’s heart contracts and pumps out an aching beatat Arthur’s words, the bright, lovely burst of pain making him gasp as Arthur tears him apart and puts him back together again all at once. Merlin doesn’t realize he’s begun crying until Arthur kisses away his tears, his faced framed between strong, gentle hands. Merlin touches both his wrists, thumbs pressed to Arthur’s pounding pulse points. 

“Shh, Merlin. Come now,” Arthur soothes, brushing a kiss to his trembling lips. “Is the thought of marrying me really so terrible that it’s gone and made you cry?”  

Merlin huffs out a watery laugh. “Clotpole,” he sniffles. Arthur grins, then laughs, and Merlin wants to hear nothing else for the rest of his life. 

Merlin settles his head on Arthur’s shoulder, lets the surge of magic tied up in his rampant emotions calm within him. Arthur’s arms wind around his back, holding him close, and Merlin has never felt so at peace.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Arthur murmurs.

“I’m yours for life,” Merlin vows, “and forever after that.”

That night, they sleep on the rug by the hearth, the shawl thrown over them like a blanket, Arthur’s arm thrown over his hip and his snores muffled into Merlin’s nape. Merlin watches the firelight glint off the ring on his finger, smiling, and lets the steady beat of Arthur’s heart against his back lull him into a perfect, dreamless sleep.  

❧

“Life with you is a dream I hope to never wake from,” Arthur confesses.

Merlin lets the words soak in, warmth blossoming in his chest like an unfurling flower. He looks down at Arthur next to him, wonders if perhaps he is talking in his sleep. He’s lying on the blanket Merlin had spread across the riverbank after their impromptu swim, eyes shut and face tipped up towards the warm midday sun. Arthur is barely half dressed, breeches sitting low on his hips with the laces still undone, water droplets clinging to the hard lines of his chest, the breadth of his shoulders, and glistening in the sunlight. His fingers and lips are still stained red from the berries they’d eaten earlier. Desire curls low and hot in Merlin’s belly.

He shifts to lie down besides Arthur, head propped up on an elbow.

“Hark, my gentleman farmer,” Merlin teases, grinning at the telltale twitch of Arthur’s mouth. So he isn’t sleeping, then. “We still have a harvest to finish.”

“Don’t remind me,” Arthur mutters. 

Merlin laughs quietly, palm slowly stroking up his damp chest, and feels Arthur’s heart begin to beat faster. He pauses to track an errant drop of water that slips down Arthur’s neck with his eyes, his tongue, and delights in the ensuing shiver.  

“Shall I take your mind off it?” Merlin whispers into his ear.

Arthur’s hands are on his thigh and hip in an instant, gentle but insistent as he urges Merlin up and over until he’s astride Arthur’s groin, arousals pushed together through the thin fabric of their breeches. Only then does he open his eyes, staring up at Merlin while his eyes flicker to gold and their clothes vanish, the air around them crackling with magic as Merlin masks them from the world. 

Arthur smiles up at him wonderingly, sun-warmed hands skimming up his bare thighs. Merlin captures them with his own and links their fingers together, rocks down against Arthur just to hear his soft groan, see his head tilt back and eyelids shutter closed. 

Merlin wants him so badly—here, now.  

Always.  

“A dream,” Arthur says, breathless, squeezing their fingers.  

“A dream,” Merlin agrees soundly, and dips to kiss him, tasting fresh water and the faintest tang of berries.

 

* * *

 

Arthur is always there to greet Merlin home when he returns from the main village, candied fruits and dried meats in tow, leaning in to kiss Merlin’s cheek before nicking an apple from his basket. 

Except today, when Merlin comes back to find their farm unattended and Arthur no where in sight, his scythe and shovel discarded at near opposite ends of the field for no reason that makes sense. Merlin’s whole body tenses, gut churning as though he has just tasted soured milk.

Something is wrong. 

Merlin winds through their wheat field, calling for him again and again, but Arthur doesn’t answer, doesn’t emerge from behind a wheat stalk like Merlin desperately hopes he will, laughing at Merlin’s paled complexion before kissing an apology to his mouth. Merlin is about to take his search indoors when he approaches the shovel and notices something smeared along its flat head, dark red and sticky. His body realizes it’s blood before his mind does, and Merlin drops the basket of food, shaking all over, the air punched out of his lungs. He takes off in a frenzy across the field, frantic and stumbling, gasping for breath. His heart pounds so violently that it feels as if it will beat right out of his chest, blood thundering in his ears, but Merlin hears none of it, listens only to the broken chorus in his mind of  _No_ and _Please_ and _Don’t be hurt_.

When Merlin turns the corner, his heart stops. 

Because there is Arthur, on his knees with his arms twisted behind his back, a deep gash above his brow and a shocking red bruise on his cheek, blood drying on the corner of his swollen lips like he’s been punched over and over again. Two burly, dirty-looking men surround him, one holding him down and another with a knife pressed dangerously close to Arthur’s throat. The third lies unmoving a few feet away, the unmistakable imprint of the shovel across his face. 

Merlin knows he should stay quiet, stay hidden, that it’s the only way he will be able to save Arthur, but when Arthur bares his teeth and viciously snarls at one of his captors, the resulting kick to his ribs makes Arthur grunt sharply and double over in pain—and Merlin can’t stay quiet; he gasps, stumbling forward with his hand pressed to his middle as surely as if he’d just been kicked instead. 

“ _Arthur_ ,” he cries out weakly. 

Arthur looks up and the color slowly drains from his face, the anger in his eyes replaced with pure terror.

“No,” he gasps, eyes wide and fearful, panicked, “no—” 

“Oh, now who might this be?” the man with the knife asks curiously.

“No one,” Arthur insists quickly, earning himself another hard kick, this time to the gut. 

“Quiet, _your majesty_ ,” he says nastily, sneering as Arthur dry heaves and spits up bile. “I wasn’t asking _you_.”

Merlin stares on, white hot, blinding _rage_  ripping apart his fear until he feels nothing else. His hands curl into fists at his side, magic restless and whirling inside him like the waves of a fierce, tempestuous storm, sharp and bitter on his tongue, burning his fingertips.

“Who are you?” one of them asks. Merlin isn’t sure who, not that it matters. 

He will destroy them both.

“Let him go,” Merlin demands, taking a step forward as Arthur looks on in fear. 

Their laughter is cruel, mocking. 

“Not a chance. D’you know how much gold people would pay for a banished prince?” the one cuffing Arthur asks, fisting his hand in his hair and yanking his head back roughly. “We can make a fortune off this one.” 

“You’re not so bad either,” the man with the knife says, leering at Merlin suggestively. He drops the knife from Arthur’s throat and takes a predatory step towards Merlin, lips stretched in a toothless grin. “Not royalty, but such a full, pretty mouth... We could put you to good use.”

“ _NO_!” Arthur roars, and jerks his head even farther back, driving his skull into the jaw of the man holding him down with a sickening, satisfying crunch. He yelps in pain and grabs his jaw, his companion cursing and rushing back to him. 

“Run, Merlin,” Arthur chokes out, not even struggling to free himself anymore. His blue eyes are on Merlin, wild and imploring. “ _Please_. Run. Save your—” 

Arthur is struck hard across the head. Merlin watches in horror as his eyes roll back and he falls face-first into the dirt, limp and utterly still.

Someone screams.  

It’s a deafening, otherworldly, guttural sound that seems to go on forever, making the ground beneath them shake and the sky howl with thunder. Merlin has never heard such grief before, such soul-deep, unfathomable agony that even the heavens are powerless and quaking. 

He realizes the scream is his own only when both men lie motionless on the ground, necks snapped as if they were tree branches.

His body moves of its own accord, rushing towards Arthur with no regard for the aching exhaustion making his limbs feel like leaden weights. Merlin gathers his body into his arms and cradles him to his chest, murmuring unfamiliar words—ones that he doesn’t understand, didn’t even realize he knew—his tears falling onto Arthur’s skin, one rapid drop after another. 

“Please wake up,” Merlin pleads brokenly, rubbing the dirt and dry blood off Arthur’s face with his tears. His skin is losing color, breathing shallow and uneven. “Don’t— You can’t leave me. I need you. I love you. I love you so _much_. Stay with me. _Please_ , Arthur.” 

But Arthur lies still. A sob rips its way out of Merlin’s throat. He leans down and rests their foreheads together.

“You have to wake up. We’ve our whole lives to spend together.” He presses a kiss to Arthur’s lips, pretending not to notice how dry they are. 

“A dream. You called this a dream, remember?” Merlin reminds him desperately. His sobs are louder now, great hiccuping breaths because he can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. His magic simmers beneath his skin, volatile and reaching for something just outside Merlin’s grasp like an itch that can’t be scratched. 

“ _You_ are my dream, Arthur,” Merlin goes on. “You are _mine_ and I—I won’t lose you. Not like this.”

Not _ever_.

Merlin grips him harder, taking his face into his hands, threading his fingers through his hair. “Wake up!” he demands, with a fierceness he didn’t know he possessed. His blood runs hot, his magic claws and burns. “Wake up, Arthur. _Wake up_!”

Arthur stirs. 

So faintly at first that Merlin thinks he’s just imagining it. But then Arthur sucks in a deep, gasping breath, chest heaving as though he’d been drowning under water. His eyes fly open, and for a split second Merlin swears he sees _gold_ in Arthur’s irises before they return to their usual rich, vibrant blue. Arthur blinks up at him, gaze slightly unfocused, and Merlin starts laughing hysterically, then crying, his relief confusing and uncontainable. He is dizzy with it, the world spinning beneath his feet.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathes. 

Merlin smiles tearfully, stroking Arthur’s dirty hair off his forehead with a trembling hand. No one says his name quite like Arthur, not even his mum.

“Merlin,” Arthur says again, his voice sounding faraway now. Merlin strains to listen. “Where— What happened? What about the bandits?” 

_They’re_ _dead_ , Merlin tries to say, _I killed them_ , but can’t get his mouth to work properly, his tongue too thick and heavy to form the words. Even sitting upright is taking a toll on his body, and Merlin sways dangerously, vision blurring around the edges. He plants a hand on the ground to steady himself.  

“Merlin,” Arthur is saying. “What’s wrong? Look at me. Merlin.  _Merlin_!”

He tips over, head swimming. Arthur tries to catch him, but it’s too late. His head lolls to one side. The last thing Merlin hears before succumbing to pitch darkness is Arthur’s anguished cry, his voice breaking around Merlin’s name. 

 

* * *

 

_“You’re an idiot.”_

_“You’ve already said that,” Merlin sighs._

_“It begs repeating,” Arthur says critically, shoving Merlin into a chair near the hearth and kneeling down next to him to get a better look at his injured arm._

_“It’s nothing,” Merlin insists, trying and failing not to squirm under Arthur’s scrutiny. “Really, Arthur.”_

_Arthur glances up at him sharply, eyes narrowing. Merlin puts on a smile that he hopes is at least slightly encouraging. Arthur looks at him a moment longer before he sighs, sounding exasperated, and reaches for the salve and bandages, muttering something about an infection. But at least he doesn’t look as angry anymore._

_Merlin doesn’t understand why Arthur didn’t just let his mother take care of this; he’s always been worryingly clumsy and she’s been bandaging him up since he could walk. He ventures to ask Arthur as much._

_“Because this isn’t just a scratch or a bump,” Arthur explains, cleaning off the dried blood where the arrowhead had pierced his skin. “This is a battle wound.” And then, quietly, “I may no longer be a prince, but I know how to treat these.”_

_Merlin watches him work in silence, grateful for the quiet interlude. Arthur tends to him methodically, confidently, picking out the splinters before lathering on a generous amount of balm, his lips giving the barest twitch when Merlin winces at the sting. His hands are surprisingly gentle on Merlin’s skin, and by the time Arthur is finished wrapping the bandage around his bicep, Merlin finds himself foolishly wishing he had another wound for Arthur to dress._

_He realizes he’s staring when Arthur quietly clears his throat._

_“I... Thank you,” Merlin says, slightly dazed. He holds up his arm, inspecting it. “You’re very good at this. Gaius would be proud.”_

_Arthur ducks his head, hair in his eyes. “Perhaps,” he mutters vaguely._

_When Arthur moves to get up, Merlin’s hand darts out, grabbing his forearm before he can think twice about it. His skin is warm beneath Merlin’s cold hand, soft blond hairs brushing over his fingers._

_“Something’s bothering you,” Merlin says. “I can tell. What is it?”_

_Arthur presses his lips together, shaking his head. “Merlin—”_

_“Arthur,” Merlin says gently. “Talk to me. Please.”_

_Arthur studies him for a moment longer. Merlin isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he must find it, because he sighs and sits back on his heels, arm slipping out from Merlin’s grasp and leaving Merlin feeling oddly bereft._

_“I know that arrow was meant for me,” Arthur finally says._

_Merlin swallows hard, averting his gaze. “No, it wasn’t,” he says hastily. “It was headed towards me.”_

_“I saw your eyes turn gold, Merlin,” Arthur says tightly._

_Merlin’s mouth goes dry. “Arthur—”_

_“Do not lie to me.”_

_It’s the harsh, entitled, princely way he says it that makes anger rise in Merlin, blinding hot and suffocating. He lifts his chin indignantly, leaning forward in his chair so he can look Arthur straight in the eye._

_“So what if I did?” he asks, suddenly so very defensive. “Is it really so awful that I used magic to protect you?”_

_Arthur’s eyes lose some of their ire. “No, that’s not...” He trails off, looking almost_   _guilty if Merlin didn’t know better._   _“That’s not what I meant at all.”_

_“Then what did you mean?” Merlin demands, waves of heat rolling off him. “Because to me it sounds like you’re upset that someone with magic saved your—”_

_“I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me,” Arthur interrupts quietly. “Least of all you, Merlin.”_

_“Oh...”_

_The anger drains out of him all at once, leaving his heart beating a slow, sluggish beat and his knees feeling weak. He slips off his chair, crouching down in front of Arthur so they are eye level._

_“Arthur, if this is about—about Will and what happened with Kanen,” Merlin tries, voice cracking as he thinks of his dearest friend, his brother, laid to rest on a funeral pyre, “you can’t blame yourself for that.”_

_“He jumped in front of a bolt that was meant to kill me,” Arthur rasps. “How can I not blame myself?”_

_“You didn’t force him. It was his own decision,” Merlin insists._

_“And the arrow?” Arthur asks, gaze intense as it bores into Merlin. He isn’t sure what Arthur is fishing for, but is determined not to look away. “Was that your decision?”_

_“Yes,” Merlin replies, immediate and without hesitation. “It was.”_

_“You didn’t use a spell.”_

_“I don’t need to recite spells to use my magic.”_

_“So you used your mind to redirect it.”_

_Merlin remembers how time had seemed to slow down as he’d watched that arrow zoom towards Arthur, the mind-numbing terror he’d felt, knowing it was headed straight for Arthur’s heart._

_And then just like that, it wasn’t._

_Arthur is still staring at him appraisingly._

_“Yes,” Merlin says, though it hadn’t been a question._

_Arthur sets his jaw and gazes into the fire, his expression unreadable. “It could have killed you,” he eventually says._

_“But it didn’t.”_

_“But it could have.”_

_“I would do it again,” Merlin tells him boldly. “I wouldn’t think twice about it.”_

_“Then you’re a fool.”_

_“Maybe I am,” Merlin agrees._

_They come to an impasse, the silence between them growing more_ _tense with each passing second. Merlin fidgets uncomfortably, the confession of something he doesn’t understand heavy on his tongue. Arthur must think he’s in pain, because he asks, nodding towards Merlin’s arm, “Does it hurt?”_

_“Not...terribly, no.”_

_This time it’s Arthur who reaches out, tentative as he settles a hand on Merlin’s  arm, his thumb brushing over the dressings. Merlin’s heart beats faster._

_“I’ve lost everyone that I’ve ever cared for,” Arthur confesses, too young to already have a lifetime’s worth of heartache in his eyes._   _“I can’t bear the thought of losing you, too.”_

_“I’m not going anywhere,” Merlin promises._

_Arthur gives him a small, sad smile before he starts drawing his hand away. But this time Merlin reacts, hand moving to cover Arthur’s own and keep it on his arm, the intent behind it unmistakably clear. He watches Arthur’s eyes widen the tiniest bit, breath shaky as he inhales. Merlin thinks his heart may explode._

_And then Arthur is leaning in to touch their lips together, featherlight and hesitant. This is his first kiss, his mind distantly registers, and it’s with Arthur._

_Now his heart is going to explode for another reason entirely._

_Merlin is so stunned that he doesn’t kiss him back, just sits there frozen with his lips slightly parted, utterly still against Arthur’s own. Arthur pulls back immediately, looking horrified, blushing a deep, furious red._

_“I— I am so sorry, Merlin,” Arthur fumbles, unable to even look him in the eye. “I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t’ve— I just thought—”_

_He sounds so genuinely upset that it snaps Merlin out of his stupor. “No,” he gasps. “No,_ _you were right.” He lunges forward, clambering into Arthur’s lap eagerly, clumsily, and headbutts Arthur in the process._

_“Oh, sorry! I’m so sorry,” Merlin says airily as Arthur curses, rubbing his nose. “Are you hurt? Let me see.” Without thinking, he brings up both his hands and cups Arthur’s face between them, using his thumb to rub over the faint red mark that’s appeared on the bridge of his nose._

_“No, it’s all right...” Arthur trails off, the barest, fondest twinge of “idiot” beneath the words as the corner of his mouth pulls up into a smile. “Come here,” he murmurs, and guides Merlin down with a hand to the back of his head, fitting their mouths together._

_This kiss is different from the first one they shared. It’s slow and sweet and searching because Merlin remembers to kiss Arthur back this time, his fingers just a little unsteady on Arthur’s cheek, stroking over the soft, warm skin like he’s wanted to do for so long now. It feels completely_ _natural to tip Arthur’s head back and kiss at each lip gently, Arthur sighing against his mouth, an arm winding around Merlin’s middle to hold him in place. He is suddenly, immensely grateful that his mother is still away, having left to get more salve for Merlin’s wound._

_At length they part, Merlin mourning the loss of Arthur’s full mouth on his own, but needing to breathe. They pant quietly against each other, Merlin glad to have Arthur’s arm keeping him upright because he’s so lightheaded that he isn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t just collapse without it. His lips tingle curiously, and he touches his fingers to them, finding them slightly swollen._

_“Oh,” he breathes. “That’s...”_

_Arthur studies him for a long moment. Arthur’s lips are swollen too, and red, and the realization that he is the one to have done that to Arthur makes him want to kiss Arthur again and never stop._

_“Merlin,” Arthur says cautiously. “You’ve... You’ve been kissed before, haven’t you?”_

_Merlin looks down. Heat flushes his cheeks red, reinforcing his damnable innocence._

_“Never?” Arthur gapes at him. “But I thought... Not even by Will?”_

_“Will?” Merlin repeats incredulously. “Arthur, Will and I were never... He was like a brother to me.”_

_Arthur looks more than a little conflicted. A little guilty, even. As though he isn’t convinced he’s_ _worthy of such a gift._

_“You were my very first kiss,” Merlin tells him, feeling stupidly brave and reckless. He runs his thumb across Arthur’s lips. “And I want you to be my last.” He lets the confession slip between them carefully, like a deep, dark secret._

_Arthur stares, eyes going round as the true meaning behind Merlin’s words dawns on him. Merlin holds his breath._

_There’s no going back now._

_But it’s worth it when he sees Arthur’s face slowly break into the widest, happiest smile he’s ever seen, nothing but crooked teeth and crinkling eyes. Merlin’s breath catches. He knows this will be the last thing he sees before he dies._

_“I want that, too,” Arthur admits. “You’ve no idea.”_

_Merlin thinks he might._

_And this time it’s Merlin who kisses him first, pressing their open, laughing mouths together, Arthur’s face held securely between his palms._

 

* * *

 

Merlin wakes to his mother’s hand on his cheek. 

“Mother,” he croaks, wincing at the raw, gravelly sound of his own voice. Hunith startles, lifting her head from where it was bowed, her red-rimmed, tired looking eyes filling with tears.

“Merlin,” she gasps quietly. “Oh, Merlin, my boy...” 

Merlin lets himself be pulled into the safe circle of her arms, tucking his face into her chest and breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of her. Her tears wet his skin, and she’s saying something, but the words don’t register, Merlin’s mind too hazy and disoriented to make sense of it, so he simply sags against her, lets her rock his tired body as if he is just a little boy again. 

“What happened?” he asks, obediently drinking from the waterskin Hunith holds to his lips. He looks around and notices he’s in his bed. But no, that doesn’t seem right. “How did I get here? Last I remember...”

It all rushes back to him—the bandits, his scream, Arthur’s lifeless body on the ground. 

Arthur.

_Arthur_.

“Where is Arthur?” Merlin wheezes, jerking upright and frantically trying to get down from his bed. His stomach lurches and his vision goes black, panic taking over. “Is he here? Is he all right? Where is—”

“Arthur is fine,” she says calmly, and Merlin could cry with the enormity of his relief. “But you need to rest.”

Hunith puts both hands on his shoulders and ushers him into bed with surprising strength. Despite his better judgement, Merlin lets himself be tucked back in, waiting for the world to stop spinning before prying his eyes open again to look at his mother.

“There were bandits, mum,” Merlin whispers, shuddering. “They— They beat Arthur so badly, wanted to sell him off like...he was some animal. They almost killed him. I had to save him, mum, I couldn’t let them—”

“Shh, Merlin,” Hunith soothes, stroking his hair off his forehead. “I know. Arthur told me everything.”

“Where is he?” Merlin asks again, but without the urgency of before. He looks around, hoping to find him and disappointed when he does not. “I want to see him.”

“He is outside, tending to the harvest. You will see him soon.”

Merlin glances out the window, where the sun is just now peaking over the horizon, a golden band across the sky. “He’s already working?” Merlin asks, frowning. “He should be resting. It’s hardly been a day since...”

He stops when he sees Hunith bite her lip, obviously conflicted. 

“Mum?” he asks, torn between dreading the answer and desperately needing to know. “How long has it been?”

Hunith regards him with careful consideration, a solemn, pensive shadow in her eyes like she’s worried about whether he will be able to handle the truth.

Finally, she replies, “Nearly a week.”

“Nearly a week?” Merlin echoes in disbelief. “No, there’s no way...” He scrubs a hand over his face, searching for the beard that should definitely be there, but finding only smooth, supple skin instead, as closely-shaved now as he’d been on that day. 

“I—I don’t understand,” Merlin falters. “What happened to me?”

Hunith sighs, looking pained. She helps him sit up and urges him to drink more water and eat some dried currants before she begins explaining. “You lost consciousness after the ordeal. Arthur brought you home and put you to bed, then he came and got me. But you—you wouldn’t wake, Merlin. You wouldn’t even move. Only your eyes...” She traces over his brow bone. “They kept fluttering, as though you were in a deep sleep, until they finally opened. But they were unseeing, filled with a golden light.”

Merlin puts the waterskin aside and wipes his sweaty palms on the sheet. “How did I wake up?” he asks hoarsely. 

“Gaius said you would wake once your magic settled and your body healed.”

“Gaius was here?”

“Yes.” Hunith smiles at his confusion. “Arthur went to see him, begged him to come here and look at you.”

“Arthur went back to _Camelot_?” Merlin shakes his head, fights down a wave of nausea. “But Uther banished him under penalty of death if he ever returned. If he’d been caught, he would’ve...” He can’t bring himself to say it.

“For you, Merlin,” Hunith says softly. “There is nothing Arthur wouldn’t do for you.”

Merlin looks down at his hands, speechless. No doubt his mother has already seen Ygraine’s ring on his finger. It’s not as though Hunith doesn’t know about the true nature of their relationship—Merlin announcing that they were moving to a farm together on the outskirts of Ealdor had easily confirmed that. But hearing her speak of it makes him feel oddly, uncomfortably exposed. He tries not to fidget under her attentive gaze.

“I still don’t understand,” Merlin says emphatically. “I’ve healed Arthur in the past, and nothing like this has ever happened before. Why did it take such a toll on my body this time?” 

Hunith wrings her hands, hesitation clear on her face. “You didn’t just heal him, Merlin. You saved his life,” she explains, her tone guarded. “But by doing so, Gaius said you invoked an ancient magic. Soul magic.” Merlin inhales sharply. “He said it’s the oldest, most powerful of the Old Religion.”

“But I don’t know soul magic,” Merlin insists, feeling frustrated and helpless. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“Perhaps not consciously, child,” she acknowledges reluctantly, “but you did.”

Hunith is silent after that. When Merlin glances up at her through his fringe, she looks down at her lap, deliberately avoiding his gaze. He’s never seen his mother look so uneasy before. 

It terrifies him. 

“Mother, what aren’t you telling me?” he asks softly.

Hunith remains quiet for so long that Merlin wonders if she will answer him at all. Her face looks drawn, lips pressed together in a thin line. When she finally looks at him, there is a deep, indescribable heaviness in her eyes, in her words.

“You bonded your soul to Arthur’s,” she says simply, somberly.

The words don’t sink in immediately, but then he recalls the gold he thought he’d seen in Arthur’s eyes and his mind goes blank as a result. Burning heat rushes up his neck to his face, sets his ears buzzing. It’s only when he searches inside himself and feels a warm, pulsing  _something_ tied up in his magic, woven into his very soul, that Merlin realizes the exceedingly intimate implications of what that means. 

“We— We share a soul now,” Merlin says hollowly, admitting it to himself as much as his mother. 

Hunith says nothing, which is answer enough.

“Does...he know?” 

“Yes,” Hunith says quietly. 

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut. The magnitude of what he’s done is not lost on him. “Does he hate me for it?”

“He refused to be away from you. He left only after I urged him to go and clear his mind. He hardly ate or slept at all. Instead, he kept a steadfast vigil at your side, holding your hand and waiting for you to wake.” Hunith grips his chin, gently smiling when Merlin opens his eyes. “Now, does that sound like he hates you?”

Merlin swallows down the lump of emotion in his throat. “My love for him is so deep, mother,” he whispers. “What I feel for him scares me. He is _everything_. I could not stand to live a single day without him.”

Hunith’s eyes glisten with tears as she blinks. “Oh, Merlin...”

“The love in my heart. It feels like pain sometimes.”

Hunith strokes his cheek. “There is something you should know,” she says a while later, her hand moving to grasp his own. “Years ago, I wrote a letter to Gaius, asking him to take you in as his apprentice.” Hunith sees the question in his eyes. “Yes, in Camelot.”

“But why?” Merlin asks, stung. “You didn’t want me here?”

“No, sweetheart, of course I wanted you here. Don’t ever think that.” She squeezes his hand. “But I worried about you and your gift—about the simple people in this village and what they would do if...” She wipes her eyes. “Your magic had become too conspicuous. I wanted you somewhere safe, with someone who could teach you how to control your powers... But I never sent the letter.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Arthur,” she replies thoughtfully, and Merlin’s chest goes tight. “When he came to live with us, it was as though you found yourself after long last. You learned to control your magic just by virtue of keeping him safe. You became his friend, his confidant, his protector, and he became yours. You needed each other. Two sides of the same coin, as it were.” 

Merlin is quiet for several seconds before he ventures to ask, haltingly, “When...did you find out? About us?”

“I knew you loved him long before you thought I did.” Hunith smiles as Merlin blushes, tapping the ring on his finger. “I didn’t understand it, not at first...but then I watched you two, saw how gentle Arthur was with you, how happy you both were, and thought to myself, what _is_ there to understand? Love has no boundaries. It is limitless.”

The gratitude he feels for his mother in that moment is overwhelming, bringing tears to his eyes. 

“Do you think that what I’ve done is wrong?” he blurts.

Hunith regards him patiently, kindly. The way she often used to do when he would ask a silly question. “Look inside yourself, child. Does it _feel_ wrong?” 

Merlin closes his eyes, honing in on that new but achingly familiar pressure in his chest; he gasps at the sudden onslaught of images—Arthur, full-body laughing with his head thrown back in the sunlight; Arthur, staring out the window with his mother’s ring pressed to his lips; Arthur, deviously grinning at him seconds before tackling him into the grass and kissing him senseless.

Arthur, cheek on his pillow, gazing at Merlin’s sleeping form in the early morning light, each blink languid and deliberate, his mouth tilting up in a slow, breathtaking smile.

Merlin opens his eyes, breathing hard, tear tracks staining his cheeks. He knows the answer to his own question with a quiet, terrifying certainty. 

“I need to see him,” he whispers.

Hunith nods. She wipes his tears away and kisses his temple before helping him out of bed. The dizziness returns twofold when he stands, leaving him feeling winded. He grabs his mother’s hand.

“Easy,” she cautions, gripping him tightly, like he is a baby taking his first steps. “Be careful.”

Merlin’s joints pop loudly when he moves, legs weak from days of lying still. He holds onto his mother for support while he hobbles towards the door, pushing it open with incredible difficulty, his arms just as uncooperative as his legs. 

The sunlight is momentarily blinding, making his head throb in protest as he steps outside. He sucks in a deep breath, lets the cool air wash over his face, whip through his hair.

His heart stutters when he glimpses Arthur. He is at the other end of the field and almost too far away to discern, but Merlin knows with absolute certainty that it’s him. A sharp pang of doubt shoots through him, paralyzing him. How will Arthur react when he sees him? Surely things will be different now that their souls are irrevocably tied. Merlin panics, wants to go back inside and hide.

“Go on, Merlin,” Hunith urges, smiling encouragingly when he looks down at her with fearful eyes. “He’s waiting for you.”

Merlin hesitates before finally releasing his mother’s hand and standing up straight. The first step is the hardest. But once he takes that brave, paramount step forward, the rest of his anxiety melts away—and in its place, love.

Merlin runs.

The ground is rough against the soles of his bare feet, and he trips, clumsy in his haste like a newborn fowl, scraping his palms to keep himself upright. Arthur still has his back to him, head bowed down, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Merlin wants to call out to him, shout his name to the skies above, but his voice is lost somewhere in his throat.

Merlin stops when he’s almost reached him, panting, his pulse racing. For a moment, he simply watches Arthur work amongst the shortened stalks of wheat; his hands grip the pitchfork far too tightly and the hair at his nape dips inside his shirt collar, at least a week overdue for cutting. 

Only then does Merlin find his voice.

“Arthur,” he says, a whisper in the wind.

Time seems to stand still as he waits for Arthur to see him. Merlin wonders if perhaps Arthur didn’t hear him, but then he pauses, stiffening almost imperceptibly before turning around. 

Merlin forgets to breathe when he sees Arthur. His face is gaunt and unshaven, cheeks hollowed, dark circles beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. Merlin can still see the injuries he’d sustained at the hands of his captors, but most of them are now yellow-purple bruises, the wound above his brow pulling closed neatly, the skin around it pink.

Arthur pins Merlin in place with his piercing gaze—eyes narrowed dangerously, defiant before there was even a reason to be, and Merlin’s heart sinks—but just as quickly, they soften with surprise, then relief, then happiness. Then _love_. 

Arthur still loves him.

Merlin feels lighter than air. 

“I leave you alone for one week and you completely forget how to take care of yourself?” Merlin accuses, teary. “You helpless prat. That beard looks terrible on you.”

Arthur throws aside the pitchfork, huffing out a little laugh that holds a note of madness, but sounds joyous all the same. He staggers forward and Merlin meets him halfway, throws his arms around Arthur’s neck and buries his fingers into his tangled mess of hair, hugging him as tightly as he can. 

Arthur’s arms lock around his back, fingers digging in to his tunic and clutching at him desperately, as though he fears Merlin will disappear. Arthur is squeezing his ribs so hard that they hurt and Merlin can’t really breathe, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t ever want this to end—the solid, warm press of Arthur’s body against his with no room between them. 

“Merlin.” Arthur is breathing his name over and over again, a strangled, cracked sound that gives way to a heaving sob. “ _Merlin_. You wouldn’t wake— I thought— Oh  _God_ , I thought I’d lost you.”

“You will never lose me,” Merlin vows hoarsely. “Do you hear me?  _Do you hear me_?” He clutches at either side of Arthur’s face, forcing Arthur to look at him, the promise clear in his eyes. “ _Never_ , Arthur. I will never leave you.”

Arthur buries his face into the side of Merlin’s neck, gasping for lungfuls of air, his beard rough and scratchy and—and _wet_ with his tears, because Arthur is sobbing, body shaking uncontrollably. Merlin feels Arthur’s legs give out and they collapse down onto their knees, still tangled together.

His own tears slip down his cheeks and into Arthur’s hair. “I’m all right, Arthur. You’re all right. I....” Merlin wonders if Arthur can feel it too, that knot in their hearts, their souls, binding them together. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I’m so _sorry_ —”

“Later,” Arthur sighs wearily, listing against him. “Please, Merlin. We can talk about it later, I promise. Just...” He breathes in deeply, one warm puff of air after another on Merlin’s neck. “Just stay like this for a while. Let me hold you.”

Merlin closes his eyes, sinking into Arthur’s perfect embrace, and lets him.

❧

Merlin isn’t sure how long they stay there, kneeling in the dirt with their arms wrapped around each other, but at some point he winces and fidgets, legs having gone numb, and Arthur releases him at once. Merlin regrets the loss of Arthur’s embrace immediately, even as his ribs cry out in thanks, but the phantom touch lingers on his skin, almost as good as the real thing.

Arthur frames his face in his hands, eyes roaming over Merlin’s face hungrily, like he’s trying to relearn each precious detail. Merlin pushes the hair out of Arthur’s eyes, smiling faintly when the wind musses it again. 

“I missed you so much,” Arthur whispers. “Your voice and your smile and your touch... The way you look at me.”

“Mum told me what you did for me,” Merlin says waveringly. His heart is impossiby full. “Thank you, Arthur.”

“I will always protect what is mine,” Arthur says fervently. 

The promise inherent in those words makes that thing in Merlin’s chest pulsate and spread tingling, pleasant warmth all over. By the way Arthur’s eyes widen the slightest bit as they stare into his own, Merlin knows he can feel it too.  

Arthur kisses him, soft and brief but with the promise of more.

They return to Hunith with their fingers laced together, smiles tired but content. She puts a hand over her heart when she sees them, misty-eyed and smiling, and kisses both their foreheads before ushering them inside like they’re children. 

Hunith fixes them breakfast, and Merlin lets go of Arthur’s hand only to better tuck into his food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until taking his first bite, but now he is ravenous, stuffing his mouth with honeyed bread and fruit, eating so quickly that his mother gently chides him for it. It’s worth it, though, to see Arthur’s resulting smile, which is wide and amused and _fond_ , of course.

Afterwards, Hunith gathers her things and moves to leave. Merlin is sad to see his mother go, eyes prickling with tears he didn’t know he had left. Arthur squeezes his shoulder, like he knows exactly what he’s feeling, and it occurs to Merlin that perhaps he does. 

“You should stay a while longer, Hunith,” Arthur urges, holding her hand in both of his. “Merlin and I would love to have you here.”

Hunith looks between the two of them, her smile kind and maybe a little sad. “I am not far away.” She pats Arthur’s hand. “You know where to find me, child.”

Arthur stoops down to hug her, and Hunith kisses the top of his head. “Thank you for taking care of my boy,” she says, holding Arthur’s face in her hands. “We are so lucky to have you.”

Arthur ducks his head, cheeks reddening in the most endearing way. 

Merlin smiles at him.

“And you, little one,” Hunith murmurs, folding Merlin into her arms with a hand to the back of his head, “remember what I told you. You are so loved.” 

“I will.” Merlin hugs her close. “I love you.”

“I love you, my sweet boy.” She kisses his forehead as she lets him go. “You are such a good son, and I am so proud of you.”

Hunith smiles at them one last time before she leaves. “Take care of each other,” she says as Arthur takes his hand. “Protect each other. _Love_ each other.”  

Merlin wipes his eyes on his sleeve after the door shuts, sniffling. Arthur pulls him to his chest and Merlin goes willingly, pressing his nose into his shoulder, breathing him in; he smells of dry earth and wheat, sweat and musk and herbs. 

“She’s a good woman, your mother,” Arthur murmurs, rubbing his back comfortingly. “She loves you very much.” 

“She loves you, too,” Merlin says, and turns to rest his cheek on Arthur’s shoulder. “Like a son.”

Arthur doesn’t answer, but his arms tighten around Merlin the slightest bit, and Merlin understands anyway. He thinks he could fall asleep like this, held in the safe circle of Arthur’s arms, but their inevitable conversation looms between them, rearing its ugly head every time Merlin tries to avoid thinking about it.

Eventually, he murmurs, “We have to talk about this, Arthur.” 

Arthur sighs, his warm breath ruffling Merlin’s hair. “Yes, I know.” 

“I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Arthur snaps fiercely. He pulls back to look at Merlin, fire in his eyes. “Don’t you _dare_ , Merlin. This isn’t your fault.”

Merlin breaks away from Arthur completely, pretending not to notice the hurt in his eyes. “You don’t understand,” Merlin argues, throat working through a swallow. “This isn’t like—like redirecting an arrow with my magic, or taking a blow for you. No, Arthur. I—I _bound_  my soul to yours. Do you realize what that means? We share  _one soul_ now. How can you—” 

“I heard you,” Arthur says gently.

“You... What?”

“I heard you,” Arthur repeats. “When I lay there in your arms, I heard your voice calling out my name. You were crying. I remember every word you said to me.” He takes Merlin’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of them. “In those final seconds, I knew I had a choice—to leave you, or to stay with you. And I chose to stay, even though I knew the repercussions would be bigger than both of us could fathom. But I didn’t care, Merlin. I _still_ don’t care... So if you blame yourself, then you’ll have to blame me, too, because I _chose_  to stay, consequences be damned.”

“You knew,” Merlin breathes, awed. “You knew and you still...” There are no words to adequately convey this outpouring of emotion from the wellspring in his heart. “Oh, Arthur...” He lets his eyes close, lets Arthur draw him in again until their foreheads rest together, trying not to think about the last time they did this.

“What did it feel like, my magic?” Merlin whispers.

“Like coming home,” Arthur says swiftly, surely.  

Merlin lets out a watery little laugh, but abruptly falls silent as Arthur places his hand over his heart, then mirrors the action with his own hand on Merlin’s chest. The steady beat of Arthur’s heart is a familiar comfort, but there’s something else now, too. He can feel Arthur there, in his own heart, as surely as he feels himself. Merlin looks down at their hands and realizes that their hearts are beating in tandem, but even as seconds turn into minutes, their heartbeats never misalign, almost as if they were— 

He gasps. 

“Do you feel that?” Arthur asks, soft. “It’s _our_ heart.” 

Merlin flattens his palm against Arthur, spreading his fingers wide, feeling the thumping of his heart, each deep breath that he takes. He rolls their foreheads from side to side, their noses rubbing together. Soul magic, he thinks, is a terrifying, beautiful thing. 

Though Merlin already knows the answer, he asks anyway. “You can feel what I’m feeling, can’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Surprise, fear and worry, confusion and doubt... But there is also joy, cautious though it may be. Relief. Hope. Love, more than anything. And...” 

Merlin  _feels_  his heart stumble. 

“And?”

“Merlin...” 

“Say it, Arthur.” Merlin is already tilting his head, letting their lips brush, breathing in Arthur’s air, drunk on the smell of him. “ _Say it_.” 

“Desire.” The word explodes out of him, urgent and breathless, a puff of air against Merlin’s waiting mouth. “Wanting, _needing_ —”

Merlin pulls him into a fierce, searing kiss that is nothing but desperation and reckless abandon. His hands fist the front of Arthur’s worn tunic, nails digging into the soft flesh beneath it, forcing Arthur closer, so close they are pressed together from chest to hip to knee, but it’s not nearly enough. Merlin would crawl inside Arthur’s skin if it was possible.

Arthur opens his mouth to him, and Merlin plunges his tongue inside, relearning his taste. He inhales sharply when Merlin swipes his tongue across the coarse stubble beneath his mouth, then shivers when Merlin sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and gently bites down.  

Arthur reaches up to cup his face and gentles the kiss before breaking it, his lip sliding out of Merlin’s mouth, the drag slow and wet.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks breathily. “Don’t— You’ve only just woken up. We can wait.” 

“No,” Merlin says firmly. “I need... _We_ need this. This thing between us, it goes both ways. I can feel what you’re feeling, too.” He rubs his thumb over Arthur’s slick, ruddied lower lip. “You want this as badly as I do.” 

Arthur doesn’t reply. Perhaps he decides there is nothing else to say when Merlin can simply listen to his heart. But his eyes are dark and heavy, gaze lingering on Merlin’s damp mouth, and Merlin’s desire spikes that much more sharply.

Merlin reaches for his hand, lets their palms slide together. He takes a step backwards, tugging Arthur forward, smiling reassuringly and nodding once at the burning question in Arthur’s eyes. 

“Take me to bed, Arthur,” he murmurs.

They strip as they go, stumbling between short, urgent kisses. Arthur kicks off his boots and divests Merlin of his tunic before allowing him to return the favor. Merlin’s hands smooth down his chest to his torso the instant his skin is bared, inspecting the damage. He touches the red-purple bruises that haven’t quite healed, anger flaring bright and hot. 

If he could, he would resurrect the bandits just to kill them again.  

“Enough,” Arthur husks, though Merlin has said nothing. “ _Enough_.” 

His beard scrapes against Merlin’s neck roughly as he starts dropping kisses there, sucking a bruise to his pulse point. Merlin manages to push both their breeches and smalls down their hips, and Arthur snorts softly into his skin as Merlin gets tangled in his trousers and nearly topples them both.

Merlin falls onto the bed as soon as the backs of his legs touch it. He draws Arthur down on top of his body, limbs tangling, and then it’s finally just warm, bare skin between them and nothing else.  

Arthur can’t seem to stop touching him, his work-roughened hands stroking up Merlin’s flanks, palming his ribs, rubbing over his chest and shoulders, as though still in disbelief that Merlin is here with him, whole and alive. He presses a reverent kiss to the center of Merlin’s chest, then over his heart, lingering there, head bowed. 

“Arthur?” Merlin strokes his hair soothingly. “Look at me.” 

Arthur pushes up on both his hands, staring down at Merlin with tears shining in his eyes. 

“The spell, I—I thought it killed you,” he rasps, answering Merlin’s unspoken question. “I thought you’d died saving me. I kept imagining what my life would be like without you... Cold and empty. I’d be alone.” 

Arthur’s voice breaks on the last word; so does Merlin’s heart.

He tucks the longer strands of Arthur’s hair behind his ears, struggling against the chokehold of emotion that tightens his throat like a noose. “I’m here,” Merlin reminds him, reminds them _both_. “Nothing will keep me from you.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Arthur demands suddenly, eyes widening. “ _You_ were the one who screamed and caused the earth to shake, made thunder clap in the sky... It was you, Merlin.” 

“Yes.” 

Arthur stares, his expression wild and a little wary, but full of wonder above all else, as though he’s just witnessed a miracle. When he blinks, a tear slips down his cheek, and Merlin leans up to lick it away, tasting the salt on his tongue. 

“Because I, too, will always protect what is mine,” he whispers against Arthur’s cheek. 

Arthur turns his head and catches Merlin’s mouth in a slow, open-mouthed kiss, so deliberate and unlike the frantic kisses they’d shared earlier. Merlin lets Arthur push him back down on the mattress, lets Arthur slip his tongue inside and deepen the kiss. Each touch and caress feels like so much _more_ now—bigger and bolder and sharper, as though they’d been living in a fog that’s finally lifted. 

Arthur pulls back with a quiet exhale, so slowly that the press of his lips lingers. His body is a hard, tense line against Merlin’s, arms and shoulders trembling. It’s clear he’s holding himself back.

Merlin drags a hand down Arthur’s cheek, letting the ring softly rasp against his beard. “Stop,” he murmurs. “Stop thinking, Arthur. Just feel.” 

Arthur gazes down at him for several seconds before he finally smiles, a warm flash of teeth that turns Merlin’s limbs into liquid. He nuzzles into Merlin’s hand, kissing his palm, his wrist, up his arm to mouth wetly along his shoulder. 

Merlin hooks his legs over Arthur’s hips, forcing him closer with heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Arthur moves to kiss his throat and Merlin tilts his head back, sighing, his hands twisting into Arthur’s hair. The steady throbbing in his groin had started the moment they’d begun kissing, and he’s been hard enough to feel it since getting his hands on Arthur’s naked skin. But now, as Arthur shifts to rest on top of him fully, their swollen lengths pressing together and ripping low moans out of them both, that delicious ache of arousal gives way to full, unbridled  _need_. The sudden urgency leaves Merlin breathless. 

Arthur must feel it too because he goes completely still before slowly rocking down against Merlin, gasping loudly at the heightened sensation when their cocks slide and jerk together, amplified with each hard, frantic roll of their hips. 

“Do you feel it?” Arthur pants into his neck, voice wrecked. “Tell me you feel it, too.”

“Yes—Arthur, _yes_.” 

The realization that he’s feeling Arthur’s pleasure in addition to his own is dizzying, makes Merlin heady and impatient. He urges Arthur’s face up for a messy, misaligned kiss, groaning into it as Arthur’s cock slips into the crease of his thigh, then lower still, the sticky head nudging teasingly at his entrance. Merlin’s mouth goes dry at how badly he wants it, wants all of Arthur right _now_.

“Merlin...wait, let me get the oil,” Arthur says against his lips, but makes no move to do so. Merlin wraps his arms tightly around his shoulders and keeps him there, unable to even consider letting Arthur off this bed, out of his arms, for a mere second. 

Merlin ends the kiss with a soft, wet smack, but they stay close, lips touching and sharing the same heated breaths. Merlin curls his fingers into the sweaty hair at Arthur’s nape, holding his gaze as he casts, lets his magic crawl between his legs and stretch him slick and wide, eyes going round in pleasure-pain; it’s not a spell he uses often, preferring Arthur’s questing fingers and clever tongue inside him instead, but Merlin doesn’t think he can wait any longer—his whole body feels like it’s on fire, and only Arthur can quench the flames.

“You...,” Arthur breathes out, going slack-jawed in shock. He drops his forehead to Merlin’s shoulder, moans like he’s been wounded, cock rubbing hard over Merlin’s crease. “You, oh _God_ — Your magic, Merlin... I felt it _inside me_.”

“Now, Arthur,” Merlin demands breathlessly, wet and gaping and aching to be filled. “I need you _now_ —” 

Arthur stops his mouth with a kiss, swallowing the rest of his pleas. Arthur kisses him soundly, sweetly, with a gentleness that belies the urgency of his need. His hand slips between Merlin’s parted thighs, thumb reaching back to rub over the slickened ring of muscle before dipping inside. 

Merlin breaks away with a sharp gasp, his oversensitized nerves at war between pushing Arthur’s hand away and wanting to feel more of him. He grabs Arthur’s bicep, nails digging hard into his flesh.

“You don’t—have to—do that,” Merlin forces out between shuddering breaths, struggling to stave off the pleasure that’s threatening to consume him already. “I’m already...” 

“You told me to feel,” Arthur whispers, kissing and licking along his jaw. “Let me feel you, Merlin.”

“But Arthur—” 

“Shh, it’s all right,” Arthur soothes. His thumb slips out and Merlin regrets the loss of it immediately, only to sigh in relief when Arthur pushes in a finger in its place. “I’ve got you. Just...”

Arthur trails off, sliding in another finger, and Merlin rolls his hips languidly into the touch, his raging need more bearable now that Arthur’s fingers are inside him. Arthur’s cock leaks against Merlin’s thigh, but still he takes his time, meticulously working Merlin open though he has no reason to do so other than to simply make Merlin feel good. 

When Arthur crooks his fingers, brushing over the swell inside, Merlin arches into the touch, head thrown back and softly moaning his approval.

“I didn’t think— I wasn’t sure if I would ever get to feel you like this again,” Arthur admits, strained, his fingers curling deeper inside Merlin. “Or see you or hear you... When I brought you home, you were so cold, so pale. I was so afraid.” 

Merlin remembers how lax and heavy Arthur’s body had felt in his arms, the way his chest had barely risen with each breath, lips purpling. He forces the unwanted image out of his head, thinks he understands what Arthur means now.

“Hey...” Merlin urges Arthur’s head up, smiling shakily. “Come back to me.”

Arthur smiles at him. “Always,” he promises, and kisses Merlin chastely, his fingers resuming their gentle exploration.

Though Merlin knows it can’t be longer than a few minutes, it feels like hours have passed before Arthur finally kneels up, his fingers slipping out of Merlin in a regretful parting caress. He strokes his hands down Merlin’s thighs as he lifts them high over his own, fitting himself into place against Merlin’s tender entrance. Merlin’s pulse quickens and he feels himself clenching and unclenching in eager anticipation, but Arthur stops just short of pressing inside.

Arthur traces the curve of one of his cheekbones as Merlin stares up at him, panting quietly and half out of his mind with love. 

“Arthur...” 

“I love you.”

Arthur eases into his body slowly, carefully, patiently, gazing into his eyes with such intensity that Merlin is transfixed, unable to look away even as pain cuts through him. He will never understand how Arthur can make him feel like this, vulnerable and safe all at once. 

Arthur leans over him, takes his mouth as he pushes in the rest of the way, his hips flush against Merlin’s thighs. His hand drifts down between their bodies to stroke Merlin’s neglected cock, thumb rubbing over the flushed head and smearing the fluid beaded at its tip. Merlin’s breath hitches against Arthur’s lips, the tiniest gasp breathed into their kiss, overcome by how full he feels, like a hole in his chest has finally been filled, one that he never knew existed. Merlin knows Arthur feels it too, his heart drumming hard against his own, _with_ his own, where their chests press together.  

Arthur pumps him slowly, kisses across his mouth and up his cheek to his ear, softly mouthing at the shell. Panting. Waiting. Breathing Merlin in. 

Merlin lets his legs fall open, touches the back of Arthur’s neck with shaky fingers.  

“Move, Arthur,” he urges, breathless and writhing beneath him. “Please. _Move_.”

Arthur rocks into him, first with small, shallow thrusts, then steady and deep once Merlin arches up to feel more of him, moaning encouragement. Merlin’s legs slide up Arthur’s sides and wrap possessively around his waist, forcing him deeper still, against the raw bundle inside, greedy for everything Arthur has to give and more.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, unsure of what he means to say, confused by what he wants, what he needs. “ _Arthur_ —” 

But Arthur seems to understand anyway, reassures him with, “I know, I _know_ ,” and kisses him roughly. Arthur presses even deeper into Merlin’s heat, like he can’t possibly get far enough inside him.

“Never been like this before,” Arthur breathes, an arm sliding under Merlin’s shoulders to hold him closer, his pace relentless now. “It’s like I can feel you  _everywhere_.”

“You are mine,” Merlin whispers, little more than a harsh breath into their kiss. He pulls Arthur’s hand off his cock and holds it to his cheek; it sticks to his skin, smells sharply of his arousal. “ _Mine_ , Arthur.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” he says raggedly. “ _My_ Merlin.” His brow is furrowed in pleasure, the force of his uncontrollable thrusts rocking them both, driving them closer and closer to completion. Arthur’s body is rigid, muscles stretched taut, and though Merlin is desperate for this to last, to keep Arthur over him and in him forever, he knows it won’t be much longer now for either of them. 

Merlin drags Arthur’s fingers across his lips, peppering tiny kisses to his fingertips. “Never forget,” he rasps, and sucks Arthur’s fingers into his mouth. 

Arthur stares down at him disbelievingly as Merlin’s tongue curls around his fingers, noisily licking the taste of himself off them. His eyes lock onto Arthur’s as he sucks on them _hard_ , and then Arthur is gone, lips parting around a low, throaty groan as his arousal surges from deep within him and into Merlin’s willing body. Arthur’s thrusts are sharp and unforgiving as he rides out each pulsating beat, the warmth and pleasure doubling, tripling, Merlin feeling it as surely as if he’d just spent inside Arthur’s body instead.   

Merlin’s own climax crashes over him unexpectedly, and he shudders, spilling hot and slick between their bodies before Arthur has even finished, pulsing around Arthur’s cock like a heartbeat. His cock continues throbbing long after he has finished, blood and magic thrumming with the residual pleasure. Merlin is only vaguely aware of Arthur’s body falling atop his own, flattening him to the mattress, slowing heartbeats pressed together. Arthur drops a trembling kiss to Merlin’s shoulder, wet fingers slowly sliding out of his mouth. 

As close as they are, as good as it’s always been, Arthur had been right—it has never felt like this before. This overwhelming intimacy afforded to them by their newfound connection, strong and passionate and so complete. 

Merlin feels weightless, like he’s floating in air, perfectly content even though they are dirty and sticky with sweat and come. He realizes he’s dozed off only when he feels Arthur lightly tracing knuckles down his cheek. Merlin blinks open his eyes, matches Arthur’s tired smile with his own.

“You’re unbelievable,” Arthur tells him, eyes filled with gratitude and wonder. “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me for that.”

Arthur shakes his head. He smooths the sweaty hair off Merlin’s forehead and kisses it. “Thank you,” he repeats, “for _everything_.”

“I love you,” Merlin simply says, because that explains everything.

They kiss for a while, slow and sweet. When Arthur pulls back with a wince, Merlin belatedly notices their bodies are still joined together. He tenses as Arthur carefully slips out of him, feeling so empty that it’s actually jarring, and aches to have Arthur fill him again. 

“Easy now,” Arthur soothes, as though he’s heard Merlin’s unspoken plea. “I’m still here. Let me take care of you.” His fingers move to circle Merlin’s sore, swollen entrance before dipping inside to massage the tender flesh, his own release easing the way. Merlin closes his eyes and sighs his relief. 

He keeps them closed as Arthur cleans him with what feels like his tunic, smooth little strokes over his chest and belly, then down between his legs. Arthur moves to lie back down next to him after he’s finished, his fingers holding still deep inside him before slowly pulling free, mouth on Merlin’s this time to dampen the aftershock.

Merlin opens his eyes as they part, just in time to witness Arthur’s soft smile.  

He glances away, debating whether he should bring up the thing eating away at him now, hating himself for even dwelling on it after what they’ve just shared, but Arthur doesn’t give him a chance to think about it any longer, just takes his chin and tips his face back. 

“Come on, then. Out with it.”

Merlin exhales loudly, rolling onto his side to face Arthur. He hesitates, but the reassurance he finds in Arthur’s eyes gives him the courage to go on. “There is so much about this bond between us we still don’t know about,” he admits. “I want to learn more and understand it.”

Arthur doesn’t tease or berate him for it. “I know,” he agrees seriously, flooding Merlin with relief. “Gaius couldn’t stay long, he had to return to my fa—Uther, urgently. But before he left, he told me that he would be back in two week’s time to check on you. He said he had something for you.”

Merlin blinks. “For me?”

“A book of some kind,” Arthur says. “I’m not entirely sure. I know that’s a long time from now. I’m sorry we can’t just...” He lets the thought go, visibly frustrated, but Merlin understands anyway.

“I’m sorry things aren’t different,” Merlin says quietly.

“I’m not,” Arthur replies with a cool, crisp certainty. His features soften when he sees Merlin’s startled expression. Arthur takes his hand. “How would I have met you otherwise?” 

Merlin suddenly laughs. 

“It’s just funny you’d say that because mum told me something earlier,” he explains as Arthur looks at him in amused confusion. “Before you came here, she’d been planning on sending me to live with Gaius in Camelot as his apprentice. So he could help me with my magic.”

Arthur stares at him like he's just said something incredibly stupid. “You do remember that magic is banned in Camelot, don’t you? Under strict penalty of execution.”  

“I could’ve hidden it!” Merlin protests.

Arthur snorts. “You are _not_ subtle, Merlin.”

He chuckles as Merlin frowns deeply, kissing it off his mouth. “All right, maybe you wouldn’t have been complete horseshit at hiding it,” he amends. “But I’d’ve made you my servant to keep a close eye on you regardless.”

“ _Servant_?!”

“Yes, responsible for polishing my armor, mucking out the stables, bringing me my meals, changing the soiled bedsheets...” Arthur gives him a long, suggestive look.

Merlin rolls his eyes, cheeks tinting. “Drawing your baths?” 

“ _And_ bathing me,” Arthur goes on, gathering Merlin into his arms and kissing down his neck. “Dressing and undressing me. Keeping my bed warm. Waking me up in the mornings.” And then, breathed so quietly that Merlin nearly misses it, “Ruling by my side once I became king.”

Merlin lets himself imagine it—Arthur in full royal regalia, with a jeweled crown sitting atop his sunlit hair and a rich red cape across his armored shoulders, a beacon of light and honor and hope as he takes the throne for the first time on his coronation. 

Merlin smiles wistfully at the thought.

“You would have made a fine king,” he says softly.

Arthur pulls back, his smile just a little sad. “Perhaps,” he acknowledges thoughtfully. When he looks at Merlin again, though, his smile is wider, surer. “But I am happy with my life here with you. I would do it all over again if I had to. I would change nothing.”

“Not a thing?” Merlin traces over his brow to his temple. “You can’t mean that, Arthur.” 

“But I do,” Arthur insists, now smiling so big that his teeth show. “Merlin, I could live each day needing nothing more than to look into your eyes. I would relive this, today, with you, again and again and never tire of it. An eternity with you would not be enough time.”

Merlin smiles as he fits their mouths together, kissing Arthur soundly. He is so grateful to have Arthur in his life, for all that he is and all that he ever will be, and thanks fate, destiny, mere  _circumstance_ for bringing them together. 

“I would change one thing,” Merlin says into their kiss some time later, like an afterthought.

“Mmm, and what is that?”

When Merlin remains silent, Arthur draws back to look at him. “Merlin?” he asks worriedly. 

“I’d make sure you were shaved,” Merlin says solemnly.

Arthur looks as though he might cuff him round the head when Merlin promptly bursts out laughing, but instead he rolls Merlin beneath his body with practiced ease, pinning his wrists to the bed and rubbing his bearded cheek down Merlin’s chest punishingly, leaving the skin red and raw.

“Mercy!” Merlin yelps, squirming. “Ow! It  _burns_ , you brute!”

Arthur grins down at him triumphantly. “Do you yield?” he asks, low.

“Yes, _sire_.”

His grin fades into something more rueful, hands loosening their hold. “I am no king, Merlin.”

“You are _my_ king,” Merlin replies steadfastly, because when he looks at Arthur, he sees the kind farmer who will always be his golden king, crown or no crown. 

Arthur smiles as he lies back down, pulling Merlin to rest against his chest, his body relaxing. It is barely noon, but Merlin knows no more work will get done today; they will spend the rest of the day just like this, tangled together in bed, finding pieces of themselves in each other’s souls. 

Before Merlin lets sleep pull him down under, he hears this:

“I don’t want to be king. I only want to be yours.”

❧

When Merlin wakes later, he listens to the strong beat of Arthur’s heart and knows, somehow, that it will never stop; looks at the lines on Arthur’s face and knows they will not grow deeper with age, only laughter; touches wounds that are healing far too quickly and knows they will not form scars. 

Days pass before he works up the courage to tell Arthur the truth. It should frighten them, but instead it only brings them a sense of peace neither knew they needed.

“You really _are_ mine for life.”

“And forever after that, remember?”

 

* * *

 

Millenia later, as he sits outside their tiny farmhouse, watching Arthur determinedly fiddle with the broken tractor, Merlin asks himself whether he deserves such happiness. But then Arthur gets the tractor started at long last, looking at him with a grin so wide, so bright that it puts the sun itself to shame, the silver band Merlin had forged him centuries ago shining on his finger, and Merlin decides he doesn’t care about the answer.

(“Why are you so happy?”

“Because I get to spend lifetimes falling even more deeply in love with you.”)

Not one bit.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! x


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